Fie on’t, ah, fie, ‘tis an unweeded garden That grows to seed.

The world will grow what is thrown into it.
Without careful cultivation
All the ugly, aggressive, dominating plants
Will grow right over
The delicate ones.
A kudzu vine, given half the chance, will grow right over an orchid
Or a small violet.
There are those who would suggest
Leaving it all up to nature
To let seeds fall where they may.
But I fear a world with no violets
A world with no orchids
A world with no quiet delicate beauty makes me nervous.

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